


Sing Me Awake

by orphan_account



Category: Hot Chelle Rae
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nonestablished Relatioinship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:39:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan's sick, and let's some troubles go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Me Awake

Ryan awoke to singing. It wasn’t that unusual. Nash basically woke up singing. And Ryan usually dealt with it fine, he had to as he had the bunk over it. But he had a headache, and Nash was annoying him. Not a pounding one, thankfully, but a dull throb that was centered behind his eyes, that pulsed harder every time Nash hit that high A note he loved so well. Ryan grabbed his pillow and hugged it over his head, trying not to groan.

 

It definitely didn’t help when the curtains to his bunk screeched on their pole as Nash opened them. “Rise and shine!”

 

Ryan flipped him the bird.

 

“Ryan, we have an interview in a half hour, you need to get up.” Nash informed him. Ryan curled up a little tighter, clutching the pillow tight enough to restrict air. “Ryan, you feeling okay?”

 

“Go ‘way.” Ryan muttered. Large hands grabbed hold of his, trying to make him release his hostage pillow. “No. Mine. Go ‘way.”

 

“Ryan, let go.”

 

“No.”

 

“Ryan.” Nash succeeded and tugged the pillow free. Ryan looked up at him. Nash frowned. “Some one get me a thermometer.”

 

“Just tired.” Ryan groaned, “Go ‘way. Lemme sleep.” Ryan tried to turn over but Nash put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Come on, get out of there.” Nash said.

 

“No.”

 

“Ryan.”

 

“Leave me alone. I just want to sleep.”

 

“What’s going on?” Jamie asked.

 

“Ryan looks like shit and is being stubborn.”

 

“Shut up!” Ryan whined from his cave. For a moment, there was quiet. Then, thick arms went under his shoulders and knees and pulled. He yelped as the safety of his cot disappeared and he was floating. No, Nash was carrying him. Everything was a bit blurry and shiny. Shiny and blurry, that didn’t make sense. Did it make sense? Usually things made sense. Maybe it was because he hadn’t eaten since before last night’s show. He should eat. No, his stomach cramped at the thought. He was cold. They were in Texas, why the hell was he cold. His left side was warm. No, his left side was cold, it was just resting against something warm. Oh. That was Nash. He found that he really didn’t care, so he curled into Nash.

 

Nash chuckled and sat down on the couch, Ryan in his lap. “Thermometer.”

 

“Whoa, Ryan, what did you drink last night?” Jamie asked, kneeling in front of him. Ryan moved down the couch so just his head was in Nash’s lap.

 

“Shut up, I didn’t drink last night.” Ryan muttered.

 

“Open up.” Nash ordered.

 

Ryan looked up; Nash was holding their thermometer. “When did you get that-hey!”

 

Nash shoved the stick in his mouth.

 

“Dude, he’s sick.” Ian stated from the table. “We need to cancel.”

 

“Wait for the thermometer, will you?” Jamie said.

 

“I don’t need to, he looks like shit.”

 

“I think his millions of followers will disagree.” Jamie joked.

 

“Can you talk a little quieter?” Ryan said around the thermometer, holding his fingers together.

 

“No talking,” Nash ordered.

 

“He’s going to get his germs all over the couch, then once he’s better one of us’ll get sick and we’ll have to cancel more shows.” Ian pointed out.

 

“Well its not like we have a wealth of space here.” Nash pointed out.

 

“Just be-“

 

“No talking until the thermometers out.” Nash cut in.

 

Ryan pouted. His head throbbed, so he pointed at the light switch.

 

“What?” Ian asked.

 

Nash sighed. “I take it you have a head ache?” Nash pet his hair. Ryan nodded. The light was turned down a few notches as the thermometer beeped. Nash took it out and proclaimed, “One oh two point three. No show tonight.”

 

Ryan covered his face with his arms and groaned in a way that was totally safe for his voice.

 

“Can I have the couch back?” Jamie asked. “The hockey game is on.”

 

Ryan knew Nash was rolling his eyes, and Nash picked him up again. “I can walk, you know.” Ryan informed him as his head lolled into his shoulder.

 

“Oh and apparently you can talk in full sentences too.”

 

“I’m fine, I’m just tired with a head ache, you don’t need to cancel the show.”

 

“The show is already cancelled.” Nash said, nodding to the tech that was in the back lounge. Ryan didn’t see who it was, as Nash set him down on the couch, but he heard the boots stomp out of the room. Nash handed him a bottle of water from the mini fridge and settled down next to him. “Drink up.”

 

Ryan sighed, and opened the water. “I’m fine.”

 

“I’m sure. But we don’t want to risk hurting your voice.”

 

“Keep it up, and I’ll start thinking you only like me for my throat.” Ryan muttered. Nash threw an arm around him, tugging him into his chest, but Ryan paid it no mind. “Don’t talk so loud, RK, you’ll hurt your throat. Don’t hiss. Don’t scream. Don’t talk. Vocal rest. Scales.”

 

“But you love it.” Nash said.

 

Ryan sighed, and dropped his head. “I do. But it’s tough. And a little scary.”

 

“Scary?”

 

Ryan sighed and drank a little more water.

 

“Look, nothing’s going to happen, you know that right? You’re not going to get assassinated or anything.”

 

“How about having my pants taken off by a fan and a picture taken of me, briefs at my ankles, by another? That can never happen either, right?” Ryan snapped. He pulled his feet up onto the couch, knees by his chin.

 

Nash sighed, and wound his fingers into Ryan’s hair. If Ryan didn’t have a fever, there was a high chance of him shoving Nash off. There was a time where Ryan had said, on camera, that he’d date any ginger but Nash. But things were changing. Fans were growing. Fans were buying multiple copies of their songs. Fans were getting more and more obsessed.

 

Nash was looking like better by the day.

 

Ryan looked up at him, eyes wide. The edged of Nash’s eyes, face, well, everything were hazy, fading into the background, making it hard for Ryan to look him in the eye. Nash chuckled softly, and took Ryan’s chin in hand. “You’re eyes are glazed.”

 

“That would explain the blur.” Ryan admitted. “Our dreams are coming true. I didn’t think it would be quite like this.”

 

“Do you hate it?” Nash asked, a lump forming in his throat.

 

“No.” He hummed. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

 

“I think that’ll be for the best.” Nash said. Ryan didn’t reply. He looked down at his shoulder. Ryan, pale as paper, was fast asleep. Nash frowned, and before he could stop himself, brushed his lips against Ryan’s head. He scooted away carefully, lowering Ryan onto the couch, before sitting on the ground beside him, to watch the singer sleep.


End file.
